


A Good Way Not to Die

by suchaprettyface



Series: The Dreamfasting [5]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Kidnapping, Loki's POV, M/M, hydra sucks unattractive goat balls, pissed off loki is fun, speak loudly and carry an enormous freaking magic stick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-04
Updated: 2015-07-04
Packaged: 2018-04-07 15:03:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4267785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suchaprettyface/pseuds/suchaprettyface
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Again, this was originally part of The Land is Always a Woman, but I split it off, mostly because it felt weird to shift from first to third person in the same work.</p><p>Steve's been kidnapped, it's been far too long since Loki got to put the hurt on somebody, and the result is a little surprising for just about everyone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Good Way Not to Die

Something was wrong.

The sky over Navaroth was a threatening slate grey, and the sea was choppy and restless. It was unusual – one thing the planet boasted was fine weather all year, and considering their year was 883 days long, that was quite a claim.

It had to rain sometime, Loki supposed.

He stood on the balcony behind the force field, watching the storm gather, feeling another gather in his mind. Since returning from the dreamtime the day before he’d been almost fidgety, unable to either relax or focus on anything for more than half an hour. Normally the only thing he worried about here was the possibility of Asgard finding him; the rest of his enemies had for the moment been dealt with. As far as he knew Odin and his ilk had never even heard of Navaroth, and with tens of thousands of visitors he’d be very difficult to find even if he wasn’t trying to remain hidden, but one never knew. He’d been tracked down in odder places by stupider creatures. Safety was not something he believed in, not for himself.

Safety. Danger. Something…

Oh, how he wanted to pretend he didn’t know.

He resisted reentering the dreamtime for as long as he could. It was already hard enough to accept how firmly attached he was to the Captain. It had happened so quickly and with such unstoppable force there was no way it could be real – at least that’s what he told himself, and though he was a talented liar, he could also detect a lie when he heard one. His life was about as far from a fairy tale as one could get, and its inherent darkness precluded ideas like true love, love at first sight, or any other nonsense children clung to.

_…the basest sentimentality…a child at prayer…_

He shook his head to clear it. Going too far into the memories of the Tesseract would lead only to madness. It all felt like a bad dream, except when he dreamt, when it was blisteringly real and immediate. At least he no longer had flashbacks while awake...well, not often.

Again, the thought of Captain Rogers – Steve, he reminded himself, trying to get used to the odd-sounding name – arose, entangled in confused memories and emotions. He remembered fighting Steve that night in the midst of a crowd of terrified onlookers; the whole thing had been orchestrated so that Barton could accomplish his theft and Loki could get onto the helicarrier. But it had been a very enjoyable battle up until he had to pretend to lose.

He had studied each of the Avengers even before taking Barton’s mind, and remembered clearly the image of what looked like a miniature Captain Rogers from before the serum: a boy’s body with the daring and determination of a man. The files had laid out exactly what was done to turn that scrap of nothing into the perfect soldier…but Loki had never once wondered what it felt like, how much it must have hurt to feel bones lengthening and muscles expanding at such an unnatural rate.

Now he knew.

It wasn’t torture, but it was agonizing all the same.

So was standing around here wondering. He could either find a distraction or go back under and see if he could find Steve. It had been long enough in Midgardian time that the Captain might be abed again.

“Do you desire anything, your Highness?”

He glanced over his shoulder at the serving-woman, who was not exaggerating in her query; she would at his request do almost anything he wanted or find someone who could. The most high-class parts of Navaroth had limits – there were some delights, particularly of the sadomasochistic variety, that they would not provide. Here, though, in an equally beautiful but not nearly so conservative part of the planet, there were few taboos, and far more discretion.

He’d taken advantage of that frequently over the years. The keepers of this particular establishment knew exactly who he was, but he had every confidence they would take that knowledge to and beyond the grave. Right now, though, he had only one desire, and it actually was beyond the serving-woman’s reach; she could only assist with a single ingredient. “Wine,” he said shortly.

She bowed, and with impressive speed, produced a crystal decanter and a glass. “Your accustomed vintage, my Lord?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

Another bow, and she vanished. Another one would come by in a few hours; he walked across the room and flipped the switch on the door to “do not disturb.”

The sleeping draught was one he’d learned from Frigga’s spellbooks. He wasn’t entirely sure if she was ignorant of his “borrowing” them, but she’d never brought it up if she knew. He also knew there were several he never found. It was one of his few regrets about leaving Asgard after she returned to stardust – he wished he’d had time to search for them. Leaving such things in Odin’s hands was practically blasphemous.

It was a precise formula designed to induce a state of lucid dreaming, giving the sleeper the ability to control the dreamtime and often reach across space to give messages or find information. The dreamfasting drastically limited its reach; it meant that the second he went under his dreaming mind would home in on a fixed point, wherever that point was in the universe, and even if he wanted to contact someone else, it would be damn near impossible. His mind and Steve’s were programmed to seek each other out. He could control the setting in which they met, and change details here and there, but he could take the draught a hundred times, and a hundred times he would find himself at Steve’s side.

Unless Steve was awake…then Loki would just be taking a nap. He had already begun to hate normal sleep. When he closed his eyes he wanted to open them to that shy grin, the calming light in those blue eyes. He wanted to dig his nails into those muscles and hear that gasp of astonished pleasure…being awake had lost its luster too, he suspected for both of them.

That was one legend of the dreamfasting he hadn’t mentioned. In most of the accounts he’d heard – not that there were many – the two who were bound ended up going mad, or dying, because they refused to stay awake. They spent longer and longer asleep until they stopped eating, stopped moving.

A worry for later. Right now…

He fetched the box where he kept the row of tiny vials, each full of faintly blue liquid. He poured one into the wine glass and added enough wine to cover it. The draught was fairly dreadful-tasting, but not only did the wine mask that, it acted as a potentiating agent on the draught.

Loki swallowed it as quickly as he could and lay back on the bed to wait. It normally only took a few…

…darkness…

 _Reach…reach for him. Where shall we meet tonight?_ Perhaps at that lovely little manor Steve had created last time. It was good to see places he liked. Loki brought the memory to mind and concentrated on it, trying to build its image in the dreamtime so that when they connected Steve would “wake” there.

But something…

…not right…

Loki found himself in the room, as planned, but it took a moment for the Captain to appear, and when he did, he wasn’t in the bed as usual, but on the floor curled up in a ball.

“Captain…”

Loki smelled blood.

He was at Steve’s side in a heartbeat, easing him out of his position and trying to take stock of his injuries. What was happening? Even if he was hurt in the waking world that shouldn’t have followed him here, unless…

…unless he’d brought it on purpose. But why would he…

“Loki,” Steve whispered raggedly, lips barely moving. His handsome face was bruised, lip split; blood had dried in his hair and there was another trickle dried from his ear. “You came.”

“What happened?” Loki demanded.

“…ambush,” was the murmured reply. Loki ran his hands over Steve’s chest and back, looking for wounds, and found bullets in his shoulder blade and dangerously close to his spine about halfway down. He’d also been beaten, no doubt after he was already on the ground.

“Stay awake – tell me more.”

“Rescue mission…Tash and Clint…and two other hostages. Made it inside, but they knew I was coming somehow. I’ve been captured.” A flicker of a smile touched his features. “Was kind of hoping you could magic me again so I can get everyone out of here.”

Loki fought down a surge of rage. Some mere mortal had dared…he wanted to break bones, rend flesh, hear the spatter of blood hitting the ground as whoever was responsible choked out his last rattling breath. They must pay, and pay dearly.

But not until Steve was safe. He wasn’t mortally wounded, but if left untreated he would decline quickly. The blast of unfocused energy Loki had hit him with last time had been far more dangerous than he’d let on; even an iota more would have damaged him worse than the bullet wound. Healing magic at a distance was something even accomplished Healers didn’t do unless forced. Loki wasn’t fully convinced that Steve had escaped unscathed – side effects could crop up months after such a thing. He couldn’t risk it again.

There was also the irritating certainty that Steve wouldn’t want to abandon his friends or these other hostages. Such selflessness was an alien concept to Loki, but he reflected as he reached through the dreamtime for the right location, Steve would not be Steve without that nobility.

“Listen to me,” Loki said into the Captain’s ear. “I want you to hold on a little longer…I am going to fix this, but I have to do it a different way than before. Just rest if you can.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Do you trust me?” Loki asked. It was not a question whose answer he had ever liked.

Perhaps it wasn’t a surprise, yet it was a surprise, when Steve said, “Yes.”

“Then do nothing. I will see you soon.”

“But…”

Loki didn’t give him time to ask. He shoved himself back out of the dreamtime, fighting through the hours of induced sleep he had given himself. It left him nauseated and dizzy, but he woke with a violent start and a gasp, and was on his feet in moments.

This called for something a bit more durable than a lounging robe.

He drew power up around himself, pulling from the spaces between planes of existence where one could, in theory, tap into the power of a supernova with one’s bare hands. The robe transformed into leather and armor, far more suitable for destroying idiot mortals. He no longer had a Scepter – thankfully – but that had hardly been his only weapon; he, like Sif, had preferred a blade that lengthened into a staff, as well as an array of knives, some tipped with poison he’d created himself.

The Bifrost was a visually stunning wonder of the universe, and it could go almost anywhere, but there were less theatrical and more comfortable ways of crossing the galaxy if one had sufficient power. There were not many paths to Midgard, as for most of history few beings of true power had deemed it worthy of visiting, but there were several, and he knew them all. One, in fact, opened only a few hundred miles from where Steve was being held. From there it would be a simple matter of traditional teleportation.

Gripping the staff and shutting his eyes, Loki called up the gate between worlds, and the hunt was on.

 

*****

To say the two agents were surprised to see him would be a bit of an understatement.

They were both shackled to the wall of a stone room, the very picture of prisoners in a stereotypical dungeon. When Loki stepped out of nowhere and into the middle of the room, surrounded by a burst of green fire, the Widow’s eyes went wide, and the Hawk made a strangled noise and tried to claw backward into the wall.

Loki could see into the shadows easily – only two inhabitants, though this was definitely where the Captain had been.

“Where is he?” Loki demanded.

Barton sounded like he might hyperventilate, but Romanov said, “They took him a few minutes ago. Back the way they brought us – I think they were going to interrogate him.”

Interrogate could only have one meaning. “They may try,” he hissed. He waved a hand and the chains holding both up vanished; they fell to the floor with very similar grunts. Neither looked badly injured, though Barton appeared to have been stabbed in the leg; he couldn’t get up until Romanov helped.

“Stay here,” he told them.

“We can help,” the Widow insisted.

Loki flashed her a smile that he knew was chilling; she flinched. “No need,” he said.

“What if guards come in?”

He sighed. He did not have time for this. He made another gesture, surrounding both with energy, and pushed.

They disappeared.

As he turned toward the door he heard rushing feet, and within seconds black-clad humans poured into the room, rather large guns all aimed at him.

Loki smiled nastily. “Let us begin, then.”

They started to open fire, but he grounded the staff hard to the floor, and a blast wave of power slammed into all of them. The sound of breaking bones was satisfying, as was the blood that ran when all their veins were crushed simultaneously. It was a waste of power, perhaps, compared to simply beheading them, but the theatricality of it pleased him.

He stepped over their corpses and out into the hallway, where more were waiting.

It was rather like swatting flies. These were soldiers, not warriors; they knew how to shoot and how to form ranks and not much else. They must have been hastily recruited and not given much training, a sign of an army fallen on desperate times.

Loki pushed one over with his boot and saw the insignia on his sleeve. Hydra.

He might have known. Ridiculous children, first recruited by a madman who believed he could harness the power of the gods. It was their first incarnation whom Captain Rogers had given his life to defeat; finding out they still existed seventy years later had been, to put it mildly, galling. Steve had nearly died again stopping their takeover, but it was a pyrrhic victory – his own organization had been left in ruins, as had his faith in those he had pledged to serve.

It was not a hardship to kill them all.

He took down the last approaching group of soldiers and strode down the hallway looking straight ahead, though his senses were on high alert. He knew the rest of them were waiting around the corner in a larger room. Whatever kind of building this was it had an extensive subterranean level. He had deposited Barton and Romanov aboveground, about half a mile away where they would not be seen by any snipers.

Sure enough, as he rounded the corner he heard a chorus of guns cocking.

Loki paused, looked around.

It was a huge open room, stacked high with weapons and ammunition. Off to one side he saw a metal cage in which a human woman and child were cowering. There was no sign of the Captain…but he saw a door on the far wall, and light coming through it, shadows moving in its window.

“I would like to speak to your leader, if I may,” Loki said calmly. He didn’t have to raise his voice; everyone in the building heard.

He saw the far door open and slam shut, and the ranks of the soldiers slowly parted to let someone through.

He found himself looking at a tall, lanky man with pale eyes – in fact he was pale everywhere, ghostly white, with white blond hair. He was wearing a heavy gold amulet around his neck set with a stone that held a ghostly blue-white light – a magical artifact of some kind.

Loki held back a snort of derision. Someone without inherent power could siphon it from amulets and relics; it was the sorcerous equivalent of living on real mages’ table scraps. He could sense this man had a little of his own, but most of what he was using came from the amulet.

He could not be dismissed outright, however. Whatever that thing was it had a tremendous amount of power. Raw energy in great quantities did not require much skill to use - like the difference between a bow an arrow, and Mjolnir. You could kill a man with either but the former would at least leave you with identifiable remains.

“Who the hell are you?” the man wanted to know.

“I am Loki, of Asgard,” he said…and, smiling inwardly, allowed himself a tiny bit of humor: “…and I am burdened with glorious purpose.”

The man looked skeptical. “Loki of Asgard. Like the guy who had aliens invade New York.”

“I am not _like_ the guy,” Loki said with disdain. “I _am_ he. And I believe you have something of mine I should like to reclaim.”

“I’ve got lots of things. You’ll have to be more specific.” The man gestured over at the cage. “Are you here for these two bitches? I’m still waiting for a call about them.”

“Not at all,” Loki replied. “Do with them what you like. I have come to collect Captain America before you permanently damage him.”

“And what if I’m not through playing with him yet?”

“Then I shall take him by force,” Loki said reasonably. “I will kill every last soldier in this place, and burn it to the ground; and I will snap your foolish neck for having the temerity to harm what I have marked as my own.”

The man laughed.

So did many of his soldiers.

“We’ve been quite thorough in searching the Captain, and we didn’t see any marks.”

“It is not for your pathetic human eyes to see,” Loki said. “But he is mine, and if you continue to withhold him from me, you will find your blood spent upon this floor and your life spent upon screaming.”

“You know, I might call you a liar, except I saw that body count you left behind you,” the man said. He gave Loki a look of scrutiny, rubbing his chin in thought. “I have friends who would be overjoyed to meet Loki of Asgard. Our organization could use a man like you – a revolutionary thinker, someone willing to tear down the old world to build a better one.”

“You mean Hydra,” he said. “I fear I must disrespectfully decline.”

“Do you think the rest of the world would ever take you in? If you go outside this building even with Captain America you’ll be arrested and shot ten steps out the door. You’re a war criminal, a mass murderer. There’s no place for you among humanity…but there would be a place in Hydra. We began with the quest to find the power of the gods – here you would be a god again, and my masters would be happy to let you rule whatever part of the planet you chose in exchange for your wisdom.”

Loki smiled. “You are a man of vision,” he said. “I appreciate that in my allies.”

The man smiled. “I’ll—“

“But I generally dislike it in my enemies,” Loki interrupted, and brought down the pole of his staff. The steel rung out on the stone like a tolling bell.

Row after row, the soldiers began to fall – most were merely unconscious this time, but would stay that way for days, and many would never wake. Soon, there were only a few still lucid enough to witness the last battle between their leader and this presumptuous newcomer.

They didn’t have to stay awake long.

The human raised his hands and aimed a blast of energy at Loki, who whirled around, catching it with his staff and absorbing it before twisting it into his own power and flinging it back at the human. The man did it again, and again, not realizing he was actually teaching his amulet not to obey him, but to latch onto the stronger will in the room. The downside to using amulets and artifacts – they almost never truly bonded with the wearer as they would have their original maker. 

Loki threw the human backwards with the force of his own energy, slamming him into a stack of weapons crates, and walked forward to stand towering over the man who was now on the ground, trying to drag himself up despite a broken ankle and what looked like a few broken ribs.

“I told you,” Loki said softly. “Captain Steven Rogers is mine. His loyalty is to his people first. He will put down every one of you in the name of justice, but I will burn every one of you to ash in his name. Tell your masters…if they come near him again, they will face me, and this is what they will see.”

Loki took a step back, still sure the man and the remaining soldiers could see him, and dropped the glamour he wore to look human; he surrounded himself with green and gold flames and sparks; with vague dark whispers just below the edge of hearing. He could see the few still-conscious soldiers trying to edge backward from the demon that just been loosed in their midst. Those who survived would have nightmares for weeks.

“They’ll come after you,” the man panted. “Soon as they know you were here, they’ll track you down…”

Fool.

“Well,” Loki said, “We know what that means, don’t we? It means you cannot walk out of this building knowing I walked into it.”

The man finally understood, and went pale, his pretense of authority gone. “No—no—“

“You know,” Loki said with false sympathy, “I might have let you live if you’d just brought him to me when I asked. Well, actually, no, I wouldn’t have, but at least it would have been over with quickly. Now, be a good lad—tell me where he is.”

Defeated, the sorcerer was on his knees, and he tilted his head toward the door Loki had suspected all along.

“Very good,” Loki said. “Now, you see what happens when we all cooperate? It’s really quite inspiring.”

The word “inspiring” was punctuated with a gurgle as Loki flipped his staff around, turned out the blade, and beheaded the man with a single stroke.

Loki paused and picked up the amulet, stuffing it in his belt pouch. SHIELD would no doubt want a crack at it later. Then he walked through the sea of bodies toward the far room.

He barely even hesitated – he gestured at the cage, freeing the woman and child inside. He wasn’t entirely sure all the outside guards were dealt with, so he reached through space to find Romanov and Barton and, grabbing the auras of the two females in the cage, tossed them through space-time to where the agents were.

Four down.

The far room was lit by the kind of lamps used in operating theaters, and they were all focused hard on the single bed in the center. There amid the wires and tubes and smears of blood, Loki could see flesh…and the shape it was in made his blood curdle.

He surveyed the situation quickly; he was going to need more hands…reaching in, and out….

“What the fuck!” Natasha Romanov exclaimed as she stumbled into the room. “You’ve gotta warn a girl when you just….oh, damn, Steve…”

“I need assistance,” Loki told her. “Some of these instruments I am unfamiliar with and I do not wish to make his condition worse through ignorance. Your years in intelligence have no doubt introduced you to many of these…methods.”

She shot him a look that was almost angry, but at the way he phrased it, without any accusation, she backed down and nodded. She made a circle around the bed, assessing Steve’s injuries – _too slow, too slow, hurry up—_

Hydra had stripped the Captain of his uniform, which luckily was nearby in a heap; his shield was also unharmed, so far, left on a table in the corner. It seemed they were only interested in Steve’s body itself, and had been poking and prodding and taking samples of various fluids.

Loki gingerly pulled the IV catheters from Steve’s wrists. “They could not have been at this long,” he remarked.

“Can you heal this?” she asked.

“I believe so. But first we must remove the foreign objects, or they will grow into the skin and cause problems of their own.”

They worked in silence – they had a minute, before any of Hydra outside the building noticed something was wrong. Almost as an afterthought, Loki lashed out with his power and crushed all of the sample vials.

Romanov was obviously arguing with herself about something.

“Speak,” he directed. She actually smiled a little at the imperious tone.

“When did you figure out that you were acting under orders?”

It wasn’t a question he’d been asked before; those were always both intriguing and deeply awkward. “Is now the best time—“

“Yes, it is. When did you know it wasn’t your idea to attack us?”

He freed one of Steve’s hands and cradled it, for a moment, not caring if she saw. “You speak as if it is a simple matter of a switch flipping on and off,” Loki told the Widow. “I began to have flashes of memory early on in preparation for the battle. Pieces of the puzzle presented themselves, but you must remember, Agent Romanov, what was done to me was brilliantly done – Thanos used anger that I already carried and racheted it up ever higher and higher, reinforcing his commands with pain. The first moment I really recall breaking through was standing on the Tower with my brother. His earnest belief that I could stop the invasion, along with his naïve hope that I would, made me ask the question, the one question deadly to a mission like mine.”

“What question?”

Loki paused, watching her nimble fingers remove an IV line from Steve’s neck.

“Why am I doing this?” Loki asked. “Then you must ask, who am I doing this for? And most damningly, what difference will this make? Will it erase the past? Once those questions begin, the mind control is doomed. Unfortunately for your earth, I did not truly begin to spiral out of it until I was back on Asgard, locked in my cell with naught but my memories for company.” He looked away, unwilling to look in her face as he said, “Once the gate opened, the memories came fast, and I was defenseless against them.”

He looked her in the eyes then and said, “If I could stop that from happening to Captain Rogers, I would. He certainly deserves better.”

She watched him in silence for a moment as they both removed the last few wires and tubes. It didn’t look like anything too serious had been done so far – after all, Loki had departed Navaroth as soon as he spoke to Steve, and that whole thing had taken perhaps half an hour. It did look like they were preparing for something major, though….there were implements Loki didn’t recognize, but he noticed how Romanov’s face grew more and more disgusted as she looked over them.

“Bone saw,” she pointed out. “Sternum spreader. They were going to crack his chest for some reason. And this thing over here is a plasmapheresis machine – you pump out all of someone’s blood, strip out certain factors, and pump it back in. I can’t even guess why they wanted to do it to him.”

At last, Steve was freed, and lay unbound on the table, mostly naked save for a sheet draped over his middle. He looked terrible – but almost entirely from the beating and the other wounds he’d sustained in the ambush. It could have been so much worse. As it was Loki didn't need to attempt healing magic, a relief. The Captain would heal on his own easily enough.

“There are more guards outside,” Romanov said.

“I would imagine there are,” Loki said. He leaned over and carefully, oh so carefully, lifted Steve’s shoulders up from the table. “Get his clothing please.”

Romanov complied, and working in remarkable concert once again they got the Captain dressed in short order.

“All right. We shall collect Agent Barton and the women on the way.”

“On the way where?”

He looked at her quizzically. “To New York, of course.”

 

*****

Any other time, Loki would have enjoyed the spectacle, but just now he had more important concerns, like the man in his arms he nearly dropped tumbling out of the portal and into the Avengers’ Headquarters. He wasn't used to teleporting so many at once, and it was difficult to maintain balance either physically or metaphysically.

He managed not to trip, and strode forward to leave space for the others to emerge behind him, some in good shape, some not as much. Barton looked like he was going to vomit; teleporting often had that affect on the inexperienced. The politician’s wife fared the same, though her youngling was clapping and laughing, “Do it again! Do the magic again!”

Loki couldn’t hold back a smile at that one. Child after his own heart.

Instantly they were surrounded by guns, the Iron Man and his star-and-stripe friend, Steve’s friend with the mechanical wings, the woman he recognized as the Scarlet Witch, and that Vision….creature? Machine? Even the one-eyed patriarch of the group was there.

Loki lay Steve down on the sofa, took a step back, and knelt, hands up. As soon as he did that, motion erupted all around him. Medics arrived and took Agent Barton to have his leg checked. More converged on Steve and hoisted him onto a stretcher to get him to the infirmary. The star-and-stripe robot man took custody of the woman and child, who seemed to know him, and they departed, the child giving Loki a wide grin as she walked by.

“Well,” Fury said when it was just the two of them. “Here we are.”

Loki slowly, obviously, held out a hand to reach down to his belt, and pulled out the enemy’s amulet. He lowered it to the floor and made it clear he was no longer touching it. “The man in charge was using this, channeling its power. He had little of his own.”

“Had,” Fury noticed.

“He is dead. Most of them are. I was fairly indiscriminate once I discovered they had taken St…Captain Rogers to be tortured.”

Fury stared at him in silence for a while, but Loki said nothing either. He knew his fate was being weighed. He had known the second he set foot on Midgardian soil that he had doomed himself most likely to prison, if not execution…but there was no fighting that one driving thought, that one need.

_Save him. Bring him home. It doesn’t matter what happens to you._

Fury leaned on the arm of the sofa, regarding Loki with a look that was…surprised? Impressed? So hard to tell with one eye. He would compare it to memories of Odin but he could not remember once having ever impressed Odin.

“All right,” Fury finally said. “What is this gonna cost me?”

“Cost?”

“I don’t believe for a second that you saved five people out of the goodness of your heart.”

“Of course not,” Loki replied, slightly offended at the suggestion. “I went solely to rescue Captain Rogers. The others were incidental – I knew that the Captain would be displeased if I left them behind.”

“Imagine my quandary, then, over what to do with you now.”

Loki shrugged. “Let us not kid ourselves – if I wish to leave, I will, and none of your man Stark’s toys can stop me. But I do not wish to leave. I wish to stay here, and if a way may be found, spend time with my dreamfasted. However you might choose to manage that, whatever manner of imprisonment you deem necessary, I will submit to it without complaint.”

Fury clearly had no idea what to do with a Loki who was _reasonable_. He thought about it again for a minute. “Let’s do this, for now – Steve’s going to have to stay in the infirmary for a couple of nights. We’ll put you back in the Zoo, but in Cell E – it’s got walls. It’s almost not like jail. I’ll send Steve on a few small missions to make sure he’s got this dreaming thing under control, and if he does, I can let him out of the Zoo and back to his quarters. I’m pretty sure he’ll pass that test – he didn’t have any trouble last night, at least not from memories.”

Loki straightened, dusting off his leathers. “And then what?”

“Then we play it by ear. We still need to hear back from Thor on what he found out about the dreamfasting. There are a lot of what-ifs going around. Even if I'm inclined to have you executed i would be too big a risk. Let’s go with plan A for now, and stay flexible.”

Loki considered it. Then, he bowed. “I concur.” He wordlessly held out his wrists, awaiting the inevitable handcuffs.

Fury stared at his hands before shrugging. “Not necessary, I guess. Or at least probably pointless. Follow me please.”

The human was correct in his description of Cell E being less like a prison; it had two rooms, and a bathroom slightly larger than a coffin. He could still sense scanners and recording equipment everywhere, but there were fewer angles covered and it might even be considered private. Not a bad cage, all in all. A few touches here and there would help. It would definitely benefit from books.

Loki lowered himself to the couch. “When can I see him?”

“When Dr. Cho says he can have visitors. I’ll make sure someone comes down to escort you.”

Fury turned to go, but paused for just a moment and said, “Whatever the reasons, thank you. You saved three of my best agents and the family of a good man.”

Loki frowned, unsure how to take such a proclamation, but finally just went with, “You are welcome, Nick Fury.”

“I don’t trust you, but Captain Rogers does. That’s enough for me to give this a shot. But if this is all part of some twisted scheme to take over from the inside, make no mistake, I’ll have you shot in the back of the head and buried somewhere you won’t ever be found.”

Loki nearly let him leave at that, but said suddenly, “Beheading."

“Beg pardon?”

“If you intend to kill me, I would advise beheading. Bullets would not be enough, not even a head shot.”

Fury raised an eyebrow. “And you’re telling me this so I can kill you more easily.”

Loki crossed one leg over the other. “I have given my word to Captain Rogers that I will cause no further harm to your planet. I could not break that word without forfeiting any hope for he and I. At that point, my life is meaningless.” At Fury’s only thinly-veiled surprise and doubt, he sat forward, holding Fury’s singular gaze, and added, “I have little else to lose. I admit freely: he is a vulnerability that you in all your cunning will likely exploit at some point. I accept that. But I hope that before you do, you consider ways in which I might be useful to you.”

They stared at one another in silence. Finally, Fury said, “I’ll keep that in mind,” and walked out of the Zoo.

Exhausted, Loki sagged back against the couch, wondering what he’d gotten himself into. This thing with Rogers was making him do insane things like leap before looking and speak before crafting a lie. He should not have told Fury any of that…yet he had a sense that it was the smartest way to deal with the situation. He was, after all, the war criminal; he had to tread carefully. Carefully in this case meant being forthright, making sure Fury knew there were things he could do to make it worth their while keeping him alive. It was obvious that Fury was above all a pragmatist - he would respond best to straightforwardness and utility.

Loki knew he could not depend on his connection with the Captain being enough for these people. At any point they could decide Steve’s will had been compromised the way Barton’s had been. Or Thor could reappear with a way to break the dreamfasting. The very thought of the latter made him feel sick inside, but it was a likely scenario. If Steve no longer wanted him, the only thing that would keep him breathing was whatever goodwill he could muster between now and then.

 _Conniving and scheming,_ he heard in his head, in a voice that now sounded like Steve instead of Frigga. _That’s no way to live._

True. But it was a good way not to die.

 

*****

 

Agent Romanov was the one tasked with fetching him a few hours later.

“C’mon,” she said. “He’s awake.”

They had of course confiscated all of his weapons, but that was fine – he could forge a new staff from moonlight and dust if he needed. He had removed and banished the armor, and was now in his usual green and black leathers. He didn’t snatch up his cloak, which lay over a chair; right now he wasn’t interested in being impressive. If he could land somewhere above defeated but below threatening, that would be ideal.

He followed Romanov wordlessly up the stairs and into the garish bright light of the infirmary. A number of people were clustered around the second-to-last bed.

Eyes widened as he approached. Everyone stepped back, even Stark, who was no longer in his suit yet still had the force of personality to make up for it.

Loki moved through the parted crowd and up to the side of the bed.

Steve had been bandaged and cleaned up but somehow looked worse – it was the vulnerability. He looked too young, too mortal.

His eyes popped open when he sensed who was approaching. Loki was relieved to see that he wasn’t medicated out of his mind, assuming they could even do such a thing.

“Loki,” Steve rasped. “What…are you…are you actually here or am I asleep?”

Loki smiled down at him and slid one hand over his bicep. “You are not asleep,” he replied. “I am here.”

Steve looked around, a note of anxiety entering his voice. “But SHIELD…do they know you’re here? And where are the others – are they okay?”

“Be calm,” he said. “You will hurt yourself. Your companions and the other mortals are all fine. And yes, your SHIELD knows I am here. If you look…” He moved toward Steve’s head and glanced around; there should be some sort of…yes, there it was. He pushed the button on the rail, and the head of the bed rose a few inches, just enough to let Steve see the knot of onlookers.

Several of them smiled. Stark waved.

“But you—“ Steve began.

“Do not worry about me for now. Just rest and know that I am here.”

But the Captain could not be deterred, and moreover, was no fool. “You came and saved all of us,” he said softly. “You saved me. And then you brought us all back here even though you knew they’d catch you.”

Loki shrugged and tried to seem indifferent, more for the benefit of the others. “You were hurt,” he said simply.

“What about Hydra?”

Even with the crowd, he couldn’t stop himself from carding his fingers lightly through Steve’s hair. There was no blood in it now, but he couldn’t help remembering that sight…all the places he had touched on Steve’s body that were bruised or bleeding. There was a low current of anger in his voice as he said, “That particular sorcerer will trouble you no further, nor will his henchlings.”

He expected to see disappointment or at least regret on the Captain’s face at the loss of life that could most likely have been prevented…but he underestimated Steve’s lingering wrath for Hydra. Steve nodded slowly and said nothing else about it, just, “Were you hurt? Are you all right?”

Loki blinked at him a second, then laughed. The other humans seemed to find the sound threatening. “Only you would ask that,” Loki told him fondly. “I am unharmed, but regardless, it matters not – you are easily worth twenty of me, Captain. Anyone standing in this room right now would agree. Moreover—“

Steve pushed himself up with one arm, wrapped his other hand around the back of Loki’s head, and kissed him hard.

The assortment of noises from the crowd was truly amusing. Perhaps the others knew what the dreamfasting had done to their lead Avenger, but none of them had ever _seen_ it.

Loki moved a hand around Steve’s back to support him, carefully avoiding the bandaged bullet wounds. When he started to feel Steve trembling from the effort, Loki drew back, parting their lips, and eased him back onto the pillow.

The Captain was panting, but smiling. “Is…everyone horrified?”

Loki cast a glance back at the others. “Some are,” he answered. “A few look rather fascinated in spite of themselves.”

Steve was laughing quietly. “So, you’re not in manacles. Tell me what happened.”

Loki related his conversation with Fury, and though he didn’t voice aloud his own skepticism about Fury’s let’s-see-what-happens mentality, Steve clearly had doubts of his own. He beckoned for Loki to lean in and spoke close to his ear.

“Don’t trust Fury,” Steve said. “He probably does mean what he says, but don’t stake your life on it. Just…watch your back here.”

“Noted, my Captain. Of all the people here, I shall trust only one: you. Now…you must rest. Actual sleep for a change. There will be plenty of time for us to meet later, both there and here…well, not precisely here. Somewhere a little more private perhaps. I doubt any of your compatriots would be able to look you in the face if they saw what I have planned for our next meeting.”

Steve’s ears turned pink, but his eyes were eager. “I’ll heal as fast as I can. Try not to get in any trouble until I’m out.”

“As you wish, Captain,” Loki said, and bowed theatrically.

Steve laughed. That sound, too, startled the audience, and Loki couldn’t help smiling.

He nodded to Romanov, who led him back out of the infirmary – and as soon as they thought he was out of earshot (he was not), the whispers started.

He paid them no mind. Steve was all right, and would heal quickly. Loki might be a prisoner, but on his own terms for the most part, and he could put up with a lot from Fury if it meant Steve could return to work and not be given any grief because of his unsavory associations. It wasn't a perfect situation, but there really was no such thing.

Knowing he would see the Captain again – in real life, no less – made Cell E feel palatial.

Natasha gave him a long, narrow-eyed look from outside the cell, but she said nothing before she turned and left. It was far too much to expect anyone here to become an ally…but grudging acceptance would do, and he suspected he had earned that much in the last few hours.

Even that, however, was unlikely from the man who appeared at the glass a few minutes later.

“Agent Barton,” Loki said without any particular inflection. “This is unexpected.”

The Hawk just stared at him. It was difficult to interpret his expression. It looked like hate, mixed with a little fear; but Barton wasn’t a terribly expressive man, even at his best. He, like Romanov, tended to keep his facial features in a careful neutral. The only tempest was in his eyes.

It took a long moment, but Barton finally said, “They tell me some big evil bastard tortured you and made you attack us.”

Loki tilted his head to one side. “You do not believe it?”

“I think it’s awfully convenient – you show up and get your hooks in the Captain, and all of a sudden we’re supposed to believe you’re not a psychopath, you’re a good guy.”

Loki stood and approached the glass. Barton took a step back.

“I am not a good guy,” he said quietly. “I never have been. My designs on your realm may have been coerced but it was hardly the only villainous plot I have hatched. If you have come looking for an apology you will leave disappointed. Do I feel remorse over all that occurred? I do, if only because if I am going to destroy a civilization I would like to remember it. But in the face of my crimes remorse is meaningless. I would advise you to stay away, for your own sake.” Loki raised an eyebrow. “Unless of course you are planning to kill me…and in that case, I feel I should warn you it would not end well for you.”

“You’re the one in a cell.”

“Come now, Agent Barton, you know quite well how little that matters. And with my mind completely my own, I assure you I am much more powerful than you remember, Scepter or no.”

Barton eyed him in silence again. “I’ll be damned,” he muttered. “You’re still a dick…but you really are different.”

“I am tired,” he corrected, backing from the window and sinking into the couch again.

“Tired. Right.”

“Go on the run for most of 900 years and see how spritely you feel.” Loki had no idea how the conversation was actually going; he didn’t especially care whether Barton hated him or not, but the fewer old scores he could rile up the better.

“Yeah, well…for Steve’s sake I won’t put an arrow in your throat…today. But I’m still not convinced you’re telling the truth about New York…there’s nothing in you that cares about anyone but yourself. I hope Steve sees that before you hurt him.”

Barton walked away, but Loki said, just loud enough to carry, “Your wife’s name is Laura, is it not?”

Barton wheeled around, hand already on his bow. _“What did you say?”_

Loki held his eyes. “I was in your head, Agent. Not even an intelligence operative as skilled as yourself could hide that information from me.”

“Are you threatening—“

“Do not be absurd. What advantage would I gain from that in my current situation? It’s a good thing that the Captain is the strategist of your group.”

“But…” Barton sputtered a little. “I _heard_ you, telling that guy in the robe, the one that worked for your boss, everything you’d found out about all the people you turned. Their weaknesses, everything, just to make sure nobody got out of line. You never said a word about me. Why?”

“Why indeed,” Loki said.

There was a chime, and an unfamiliar voice said, _“Agent Barton, we’re waiting in Conference Five.”_

Barton swore and shook his head. “On my way,” he ground out. “We’re not done,” he told Loki, and left the Zoo as if being chased by the ghosts of every moment of those perilous days before the Chitauri invasion.

Loki leaned his head on the back of the couch.

To this day he couldn’t say why he never revealed the existence of Barton’s family to Thanos’s cronies. Selvig, too, had loved ones, and there were humans all over the planet that could have been used against the Avengers. Thor’s woman, for one. It had not been a conscious decision. As he’d told the Widow, there had come a time when he had begun to realize something was very wrong with his mind…he theorized that some part of his subconscious had taken whatever tiny, seemingly insignificant action it could to sabotage the plan out of a helpless sense of vengeance. He couldn’t be sure, but it was a comforting thought - not that he had tried to help the mortals, but that some part of him had been unbroken by Thanos, still alive and clawing for a handhold in the screaming darkness.

Again, he heard the faint whisper of Frigga in the back of his mind: _Always so perceptive about everyone but yourself._

He flopped sideways into the cushions with a grunt, hoping no one was watching whatever camera captured that particularly graceless move. The couch wasn’t nearly long enough, but he lacked the energy or inclination to try out the bed as yet. Being horizontal would have to do for now, although, it would have been nice to watch Steve unlace his boots again.

He smiled a little, eyes closing. Things were going to get strange before they got stranger. Whatever was coming, he must get all the rest he could.

With any luck it would be the last sound sleep he’d have for quite a while.


End file.
